Red: A Camp Rock Fable
by faerietaleredux
Summary: The day after her blowup with Shane, Mitchie wakes up on the forest floor--wrapped in a red cloak. Just when she thinks things are as strange as they can get, she's proven wrong. It's just the start.
1. Chapter 1

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**Red** }}ï{{ **A_ Camp Rock _Fable**

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"Little Red Riding Hood was my first love…

If I had been able to marry her,

I would have known perfect happiness."

-- Charles Dickens

Mitchie woke up on the forest floor, damp leaves making imprints on the back of her arms. She sat up slowly, blinking. Disoriented. The sky was dark—black patches peeking through a canopy of trees. _What am I doing here?_

She sifted through her memories, laying them out in sequence. It would be hard to forget yesterday—pretty much the worst day of her life. And no, she wasn't just being dramatic. The day marked new depths in personal humiliation. Shane hated her with a passion that hurt to describe. Her mom couldn't even look her in the eye. She'd disappointed everyone that mattered—including herself. Her last memory was of Caitlyn trying to comfort her. She'd gone to sleep in the uncomfortable silence of her cabin, hot tears soaking into the pillows.

Mitchie shook her head, trying not to succumb to a crippling bout of self-pity. None of the things she remembered, true though they were, explained how she ended up out here—so deep in the forest that she couldn't even make out light from Camp. She stood up, brushing off the layer of dirt and grass that clung to her cloak. _Wait, when did I get a cloak?_ She looked down, surveying her attire more closely—a blood red hooded cloak, straight out of a fairy tale, over a blue plaid dress, the hem coming just below her knee. The skirt's fabric was scratchy against her skin. _Do they even make clothes like these anymore? _

Mitchie surveyed her surroundings—trees, bushes, and moss covered rocks. She narrowed her eyes. This seemed less and less like the woods surrounding Camp Rock. For one thing, she didn't recognize the trees. And it was cold—not the weather of an East Coast summer.

Then it occurred to her. _Is this some kind of sick joke?_ One of Tess' sadistic plots to drive her beyond mere humiliation and into complete mental breakdown? She almost believed it, because at least that would make sense. But Tess' tactics were usually more straight forward. Plus, Tess never missed an opportunity to gloat. She wouldn't be hiding in the bushes, she'd be out in the open—pointing and laughing.

A wicker basket lay toppled over, a few feet from her. She bent down to pick it up. Inside, wrapped in a checkered cloth was two small loaves of bread, a turkey leg, and a milk jug. _Odd choice of food for a picnic._ A small folded piece of paper rested on top of the bread. Mitchie unfurled the note, straining her eyes to read it in the dim light of dawn.

_  
Child,_

_The meat and cookies are for granny. Do not eat them. You can have one biscuit and half the jug of milk._

_Love,_

_Mama_

_Okay_. Mitchie had been hoping for something more along the lines of 'ha ha, jokes on you. Let's head back to camp for smores and pillow fights.' Apparently that was too much to ask for.

She knew whoever wrote the note, it wasn't her mother. Maybe if the basket had empanadas and a tamale, but even then, Mitchie couldn't really imagine her mom referring to her as 'child.' One thing was certain, she wasn't going to get answers standing around.

Swallowing, she put the note back in the basket and made her way into (or out of?) the heart of the forest—meandering around bushes and trees—hoping to find a path. She gripped the cloak around her tightly, pulling the hood over her head.

"None of it means anything unless people see who you really are." That's what Shane had said, towering over her as she crouched beneath the dance studio window, his face showing barely concealed disgust. _But what is that supposed to mean? How do you show everyone who you are, when you don't even know yourself?_

Mitchie rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the tension in her head. She knew for certain now that she was no longer at camp. No matter where you were at Camp Rock, if you walked in a straight line, you'd hit a highway in under thirty minutes. She'd been walking for over an hour. Maybe longer than that.

There wasn't much light in the forest, but she'd adjusted to the darkness. Coming down a small hill, she stumbled upon a blueberry bush—its leaves stained purple with juice. Mitchie picked the fruit like a little bird, leaving almost nothing on the branches, plopping each blue mound directly on her tongue. The last five she dropped in her milk jug and shook the canister. It wasn't quite Jamba Juice, but it was better than nothing.

A rustling of leaves.

Mitchie turned her head towards the sound. Her heart beat in her chest. _Thu-thump, thu-thump._ It's amazing how one minute being alone seems like the worst thing in the universe and then_ –flip— _you realize it might be better than the alternative. "Hello?"

She heard a kind of whimpering noise, a high pitched note of pain. Mitchie approached it.

A gray wolf lay crouched on the ground, its paw locked in a jagged steel trap. Mitchie had never been particularly good with animals. Even her fish disliked her. But she couldn't stand seeing an animal in pain. She'd had to rescue a bird once from Coco-loco, the neighbor's tom cat. It had been a messy affair (she had scratches to prove it). But the bird had got away, mostly uninjured.

Mitchie inched toward him, her skirt rustling against stray branches.

Nervous, the wolf bared his teeth, growling steadily.

"All I want to do is help, ok? Don't eat me."

She took a step forward and the wolf yelped, assuming a defensive position. He was shaking—either in fear or pain.

Mitchie winced. Oddly enough, she thought of something her mom used to say when she was a kid. "Sing a song, it'll make it better." If her parents wondered about her obsession with music, they shouldn't have. It was partly their fault. _But what would mom say to approaching a possibly rabid wolf-dog with teeth the size of Texas?_

Mitchie took a deep breath and kneeled down to the same level of the wolf. She smiled awkwardly. _How lame is it to be embarrassed to sing in front of a wolf? I'm so pathetic._ After a deep breath, she voiced the words of the first song to come to mind, the melody coming out an almost-whisper. "I wish I could bubble wrap my heart..." She crawled forward "…in case I fall and break apart."

The wolf blinked, mesmerized (or perhaps confused; you would be too if you were him).

"But I know you hurt the people that you love and those who care for you…" Mitchie stopped crawling when she was less than a foot in front of him, well within biting range. _Mumble, mumble._ She chucked nervously, her own hands shaking, as she reached out to inspect the trap. "Would you believe I can't remember the words?

Surprisingly, the wolf stayed calm. He looked at her with doe eyes, silently pleading to make the hurt stop.

She held his paw in her hands, gentling feeling along the line where the teeth of the trap dug into flesh. _What kind of bastard puts out traps like these?_ Hot tears formed in her line of vision and she blinked them away. She tried to push away all the anger she felt, so the wolf didn't feel threatened. With a quick intake of breath, she readied herself to remove the metal snare. It wasn't going to be pretty. _One. Two._ –Snap!– She pulled the teeth apart.

The wolf didn't miss a beat, using the opportunity to jump backwards—completely free of the trap. He turned to look back at her and then sauntered away limping and afraid.

"Huh. That's gratitude for 'ya."

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When it started to get cold again Mitchie realized she might need to find shelter for the night. It hadn't occurred to her before. She assumed people would be looking for her, or that she'd find some sign of civilization and call for a cab. But then she came to the base of a mountain, completely white with snow. There was no place in her entire state with even a hint of snow in July. Wherever she was, she was far far away from home.

"Well aren't you a pretty little thing."

Mitchie felt the blood drain from her face. She turned to meet the voice, her red hood falling from her head as she did. "Who are you?"

He smiled and Mitchie felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. He was close to two feet taller than her and bearded. "Just a local woodsman, looking out for little girls." He stepped closer. She backed up.

"I'm not a little girl." She pulled her cloak around her tightly.

He chuckled. "A little girl with big eyes."

Mitchie scanned her surroundings for something sharp. She noticed the knife tied to his belt and looked away. Backing up had been a bad idea. He'd cornered her into a tree.

"What red lips you have," he said, moving closer, eying her mouth. He smelled of tobacco and cardamom.

She wanted to throw up, but swallowed instead, her throat burning. Somehow she didn't think breaking into song was going to work with this problem and she remembered something else her mom had told her. When it comes down to it, people are always more dangerous than animals.

to be continued…

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**Note**: Well here it is--my very first Camp Rock story! It's pretty weird, I know. o_0 Sorry if anyone is seriously creeped out by the last bit. It'll get better, but true fairy tales tend to cross paths with evil. But (at least in my world) young girls always come out victorious.

Thanks very much to **suburbs** for beta-ing this. I appreciate your encouragement very much.

Let me know what you think so far. All thoughts--random or not--help me. I'm such a procrastinator, but proddings in the form reviews are great motivators.


	2. Chapter 2

Part II

The man smiled, a sly crooked smile, and Mitchie cringed. "It's not safe to be out in the woods alone," he said, standing close enough that Mitchie could make out indentations in his beard.

"It's a good thing I'm not alone." She was proud that the words came out without breaking. She was tired of pretending, but the lie was instinctive. She was terrified—unable to process much beyond her stomach clamping in sudden spurts. It'd been an exhausting day, not knowing where she was. Or if she'd just gone crazy and this world was some drug-induced nightmare. But it was all secondary now to this one moment of utter terror.

The man tilted his head, as if unsure whether or not to believe her. "Really now?" he said, his gaze not straying from her face. "Bad things happen to little girls who lie."

Something about his voice made Mitchie sick to her stomach and, as if in reflex, she bit down on her tongue, blood forming along the raw skin. She clenched her fists until her knuckles were white with strain. She was angry now, emotional and physical exhaustion merging with her fear, edging her towards an unstable precipice. "I am _not_ a little girl," she said, through gritted teeth. She stepped to the right, removing herself from the sandwiched position between the man and the tree, and spit on the ground. The saliva had flecks of blood from her wounded tongue.

As soon as she'd stepped out of the trap, the man's face changed completely. —Flash— and all pretense of virtue was gone. This man was dangerous.

Mitchie knew she should run, but fear came back to choke her and she felt locked in place, knowing without taking a step that he would catch her if she tried to get away.

The leaves crunched under his step as he moved towards her, and she closed her eyes. Willing herself to wake up from this horrible dream.

A reverberating growl behind her.

Mitchie opened her eyes but didn't turn around. The man had stopped approaching her. He was backing up.

The growl got louder, interrupted only by a BARK and SNARL.

The man's eyes shifted from Mitchie to the spot behind her, like a hungry animal debating whether his prey was worth a hard fight.

Mitchie decided she wasn't going to give him an option. She turned on her heels and ran. He lunged after her, his fingers catching her cloak. But he was forced to let go when a hurling mass of gray fur and teeth pummeled him to the ground.

Mitchie didn't stop to watch the scene. She just ran and ran and ran. But from the sounds –horrifying squeals of pain—she could envision the carnage.

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She was crying and out of breath when her legs--shaking now from exertion, the adrenaline gone--stopped her before she would have liked. _Where do I go __now? What__ do I do? _She stumbled forward along an open edge of the forest, lost in a feeling of hopelessness, and not looking where she was going--when she tripped over someone who'd been napping on the ground.

"Whoa there," he said, reaching to catch her before she fell forwards. She squirmed out of his grip, too close to her previous encounter to accept any form of physical contact from a stranger. She probably would've started running again if she hadn't recognized him then and there.

At the sight of him, Mitchie was overcome by conflicting emotions—wanting to rush into his arms for a hug and at the same time ready to push him over the edge of a tall cliff. She could barely get his name out, thinking that he might be behind all this in some cruel attempt to teach her a lesson. "Shane?"

The boy looked confused as he pushed his hair from his eyes. "Sorry?"

Mitchie hugged her arms, not saying anything.

He furrowed his brow. "Miss, are you all right?"

_Miss?_ She gave him a deadly _what's-wrong-with-you_ look and felt her throat closing up. She knew she'd hurt him, but if he set this whole nightmare-meets-fable-thing up, she'd never forgive him.

"Enough already, Shane. What's going on?" She rubbed her cheek along the rim of red fabric on her cap, wiping the wet streaks from her skin.

He stepped closer, his voice gentle. "Have you been crying?"

She sniffled, refusing to meet his eyes. "I've just had a really bad day. It doesn't matter—you wouldn't understand. I just want to know how to get back to camp."

He furrowed his brow again. "Um, I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you lost? Is that what's wrong?"

She couldn't take it anymore. "Shane," she pleaded. "I'm serious. Enough with the games. I need to go home."

His face softened. "Look, I don't know who Shane is, or why you think I'm him. But I know what it's like to feel lost." He put a hand on her shoulder, and she felt tears welling up again. "I'll help you."

She met his gaze finally, staring into his dark sepia irises, watching as his pupils zoomed in and out of her own. One look, and she knew. He was telling the truth. It didn't make any more sense than anything else that had happened, but this boy—the spitting image of Shane Gray—had no clue who she was.

She let out the breath she'd been holding and feigned mild embarrassment. "Sorry for the mix-up. You look so much like someone I know." She hesitated slightly, the words sounding more like a question than a statement. "I guess we've never met then."

He chuckled softly, his upper lip forming a wicked little grin. "No, we haven't." His smile sent butterflies to her chest. He leaned in closer to her, "I would've remembered meeting you, Red." And then he winked, smiled and walked away.

Mitchie blinked a few times in surprise before following.

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**Note:** Thanks so much for the affectionate prodding. I needed it! **Suburbs **was kind enough to look this over—thank you!The chapter was short (suburbs said that was okay, so I believed her ^_~); but it's difficult to switch tones when dealing with the above type of villain.

Still interested? Let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

Part III

Meanwhile, in another world - somewhat more like your own (albeit with a much higher distribution of attractive inhabitants and a constant flow of flattering lighting) - another young brunette was acclimating to an unfamiliar setting.

Red had always pictured scrubbing pots and pans as more of a Cinderella-type chore. But, sitting in this strange kitchen with all its magic devices, she resigned herself to the fact that maybe all heroines were forced into hard labor at one point or another. Strange, though, how someone could have a magic machine that warmed bread to an interesting crunchy state and a bowl that mixed itself, but still have to scrub large grime-covered pots by hand. It was like the Giant her cousin Jack told her about—who had a chicken that laid golden eggs, but didn't have the sense to post a guard to protect it from thieving little boys.

Some peasants would be overcome with shock to find themselves in so odd a place—surrounded by strange devices and having people constantly call them by someone else's name. But Red had a family of adventurers and she'd heard stories about all sorts of crazy things that other children might never be exposed to. For example, anyone else might be amazed at the little box that sang to you at the tap of your finger, but Jack had told Red about a harp in the shape of a woman that could play, sing, and speak. Surely, that takes the cake.

No, there was no use fighting her new circumstances. What a waste of energy. Instead, she was determined to float along until she met whatever this adventure had in store for her. She was up for the challenge.

But she still had some minor complaints. I mean, 'Mitchie?' Really, that's the best they could come up with? Red always imagined her story-name as more along the lines of a Cordelia-Whisper or Scarlet Lei—something heroic with a nice ring to it. But there was no changing it. Mitchie it was.

Still, strange as it was, this new place was better than where she'd been previously. She'd count her blessings and make do. At least until her foot healed.

"Nice job on those pots, mija. Grab the brownies out of the oven and then you can head over to class."

Red smiled awkwardly at the woman who apparently thought she was her daughter. Delusional, obviously. But that sort of thing was normal for this kind of story. She grabbed two towels and reached into the oven. It smelled good but looked disgusting—like baked dirt. She cringed.

"What's that face for--are they burnt?"

"I'm not sure. What is it exactly?"

"Brownies—your favorite. If you're careful you can have a piece before you go."

Red looked less than enthusiastic, so Connie took a knife and cut out a slice for her. It might raise questions if she didn't eat her 'favorite' food, so against her better judgment, Red took a bite—blowing on the hot dirt-colored-thing before taking a bite.

Red's face contorted in visible pleasure. "Oh-my."

Connie smiled. "A good batch then?"

"Wonderful! You should make this every day. I've never tasted such gloriousness."

Connie laughed. "I'm glad to see you smile. After yesterday, I thought you'd be hiding in your room today."

"Yesterday?"

"Sorry. I know, we promised not to talk about it anymore. I'm just glad to see you recovering so well."

"Right, well, I'm an excellent recover-er."

"Better hurry if you're gonna change before class. Look you can walk back with Ella, I see her outside."

Red made her way to the door, a little sad to part with her new brownie-discovery.

"Mija—why are you limping?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I fell down earlier."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine."

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Red tripped a little when exiting the kitchen. The girl 'her mother' said was Ella, clad in beautiful baby blue, stopped when she noticed her. Red smiled. "Hi, can I walk with you?"

"Sure, I guess." She tugged at her long dark hair, nervously tying it back.

"So you're Ella."

"Uh-last time I checked." She sent Red a look that said why-are-introducing-yourself-to-me-weirdo.

Red ignored it. "Any relation to Cinder-?"

"Huh?"

"Evil stepmother, a fetish for fancy shoes?"

Ella laughed. "Well, that does sound like me, but I'm definitely no Cinderella. Cute of you to say so though, Mitchie."

Red shrugged. "I have been known for occasional cuteness. I love your dress by the way."

"Thanks! It's Sweet Lolita—a Japanese thing."

"It's beautiful."

With Ella by her side, Red found her assigned cabin easily enough. She was a little shocked by Mitchie's wardrobe, or lack thereof. How was she expected to be a heroine in a mind-blowing adventure if all she had to wear were boys work clothes—ten pairs of denim pants and a number of purple blouses. Not one dress in the lot!

"Ella, are these all my clothes?"

"Um, I think so. You might have some laundry in the bin."

She huffed in annoyance. "These clothes are unacceptable."

"Um you could borrow something from your mom. You've done that before."

Red laughed out loud before she could stop herself. What a funny thought! She'd seen Mitchie's mother's choice in clothing and it was nothing she'd pursue on purpose. "No," she giggled, "that won't work."

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught site of a bright red hoodie with flowers stitched on the sleeves. She almost lunged for it. "Is this yours, Ella?"

"Yeah."

"I don't suppose you feel like a barter?"

"A barter? You mean a trade?"

"Yes. You give me some of your fantastic attire. I'll give you anything you want. Look here's a perfectly interesting little white box with strings attached. You must've always wanted one of these."

"Your ipod? You want to trade your ipod for some clothes?"

"It's not enough, you're right. Sorry. What else would you like? Maybe some nice denim pants to send to your brother? Assuming you have one, that is."

"No, no the ipod's enough," Ella shook her head. "It's just really weird. Plus most of the clothes I have in this trunk are for cosplay—like dress-up—not every day. I didn't think any of this was your style."

Red smiled. "I'm reinventing myself."

"Oh! I get it." Ella understood completely. "You're turning to fashion for _therapy_. It makes total sense now! After everything that went down yesterday, clothes are the first step to a fresh start."

"Uh, right. Exactly."

"Well, I'll totally help you out."

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When Red finally came out of her cabin, she was wearing a red floral-print dress that puffed ever so slightly at the hem and striped lacy stockings that came just above her knee.* She took in a breath of fresh air and sighed contentedly. All she needed was a velvet cloak in her favorite shade of ruby and she'd feel almost normal.

Stepping off the stairs, she smacked straight into a boy who wasn't watching where he was going.

"Watch it!" He said, a little rudely for Red's taste.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to be polite. A little kindness might teach him some manners.

He looked her up and down, taking in her fabulousness she assumed. A whole series of expressions flashed across his face, all in less time than she could blink. He was about to smile, a very nice smile she imagined, and then it was as if he remembered something and his entire face clouded over with darkness. And maybe even pain.

Was he going to cry, or scream? She wasn't sure.

He stomped away like he couldn't escape fast enough, making a very unattractive "gah!" noise as he left.

"Hmph." What was that about?

Red decided not to worry about it. She'd figure it out in time. Now if only she knew where to find the "class" she needed to be in…

She meandered along the path, looking through the windows of the different buildings. A loud pounding sound came out from one of them and Red felt like putting her hands over her ears. It sounded like the noise Ella called music. At the front of the classroom was that boy who'd run into her. He saw her and narrowed his eyes sharply.

No, that couldn't be where she belonged. She was definitely not welcome there.

She continued down the row, careful not to kick up dirt onto her white stockings.

The next building looked almost empty and Red was ready to move on when she heard someone playing the piano. A lovely tune at that. So soft and melodic. She opened the door and walked in, only somewhat hesitant.

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footnote:

*If you're having a hard time picturing Red's ensemble, or you want to see the inspiration for her fashion sense, I have a link in my profile that explains it. Either that or watch the awesome movie "Kamikaze Girls." It's available on Youtube and through Netflix.

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Note: I'm so sorry everyone. I'm a horrible update-er. All I can do make a sad face and ask you to forgive me. :(


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